Conversations with Gladston
by Mcbnotredame7
Summary: Holmes misses Watson badly, really badly. But what happens when the only one left for him to talk to is Gladston? He gets some much needed advice and tries to renew his friendship with his Boswell, that's what! T for language


**Disclaimer: I don't own Sherlock Holmes. I wish I owned Robert Downey Jr. though… that would be nice.**

**AN: So this just sprang into my mind out of nowhere. Oh and even this is based on the books, I see Robert Downey Jr. and Jude Law as Holmes and Watson so I thought I should let you know.**

"God damnit you mongrel! Why couldn't Watson have taken you with him?" I had walked into our, my, sitting room to find Gladston chewing on my Turkish slipper. I ripped it out of his mouth and heard him let out a small whimper.

"Oh stop it!" Plopping into my winged armchair I checked my slipper for any severe damages. Thankfully there were none. I lit my pipe and sat there as I usually did, thinking, contemplating, and looking at a case from every angle possible, when I heard the fire crackle causing my head shoot up.

"Watson can you pl--?" But, as I had not failed to discover on numerous occasions, Watson was not to be found in his identical chair, nor anywhere in 221B Baker Street. I sat up in my chair to experience an excruciating pain in my chest.

"Maybe those boxing matches every night aren't the greatest things for my health are they?" Gladston gave a small bark as to answer back "yes". "No matter, as I've been told numerous times, I know nothing of what's good for me and since there is no doctor here to badger me about it I will continue on in my ways."

Once again a whimper came from Gladston, almost saying no back to me. "Why are you disagreeing with me? You are Watson's dog after all; I guess you don't like to hear ill will of him do you?" I cautiously slid out of my chair and onto the floor next to the bulldog, lying next to him peacefully.

"Gladston what am I to do? You'll listen to me right? I have no one to talk to anymore," I said as I stroked his fur. "No one who will listen to what I have to say, except for you and Scotland Yard of course, but they only want to listen when they need my help. I need somebody who will listen to me when I want to talk about the way I feel…"

The bulldog laid his head upon my chest as I exhaled. "But no, nobody ever wants to listen to Sherlock! Well Watson used to, but he had to go and marry that Morstan girl and look where we are now! I am lost without my Boswell…"

I laid there silently for some time, staring up at the ceiling. A number of thoughts were rushing through my head, even that little voice telling me that I was being a selfish little child for wishing that Watson had not married Mary. I usually ignored that thing called my conscious, but just this one time I listened.

"Gladston?" I asked as I pulled my hands behind my head, still staring upward. "Is it wrong of me to want Watson back?" I expected to hear some sort of reply back but all I got was silence. "Should I rephrase my question?" _Bark._ "Of course you want me to!" Once again I laid there silently for sometime, images of me and Watson walking in the park at his request, him yelling at me for using cocaine which I have completely stopped now, and most of all, those nights where we would just sit there, me playing my violin, and him sitting there silent, enjoying the music.

"All right Gladston, is it wrong of me to want Watson back after I displayed my views of his marriage to him, and ruining any chance of him staying by practically pushing him away with my harshness?" _Bark bark_. "So what should I do?" He just let out a whimper however and I once again returned to my silence, continuing to lay there stroking his fur until I fell into a deep slumber.

* * *

"Watson! WATSON!" I yelled as my one and only friend lay on the ground wounded. "Watson you can't do this to me! You can't leave me!" Tears rolled down my cheeks as blood started to stain his shirt.

"Sherlock," he rasped, "I'll be ok, it's just a scratch, see?" I unbuttoned his shirt and looked at the hole and blood in his side.

"You're a doctor Watson! You know that this isn't just a scratch!"

"I'll be ok Sherlock," he said barely above a whisper, "just stay here with me and everything will be all right. That's the way it always works." He nestled his head upon my chest as I tried to stop my emotions from flooding out any further. "Will you stay with me Sherlock?"

"Of course," I barely choked out. I stroked his hair as he lay there, trying to comfort him in his pain. "I'm sorry Watson."

"For what?" he rasped.

"For causing you so much stress over your marriage and being a terrible friend and always criticizing you and—"

"I love you Sherlock." The tears flooded out so heavily now that I couldn't even see.

"I love you too John," I sobbed. I looked down at his face and saw his eyes close shut, the color leaving his face, and the shallow breathing coming to and end. "NOOOO!!!"

* * *

"NOOOO!!!" I yelled as I jolted up from my position on floor. I grabbed my side painfully with the vivid images from my dream still fresh in my head. "Gladston, I think you're right. I need to do something about this." I couldn't get back to sleep so I went downstairs to see if Mrs. Hudson had prepared breakfast yet and to read the paper.

"Mr. Holmes is something wrong?" she asked to my surprise.

"No…Is there something wrong with you nanny?" She gave me a queer look as she poured me a cup of coffee.

"Well with your talents Mr. Holmes I'm in shock that you don't already know." That dream really had messed my head up hadn't it? "It looks as if you've sweat yourself to death, you don't look presentable at all, your hair's a mess, shall I go on?" I grabbed my shirt and felt that it was soaked and tried to rub down my hair as best as possible.

"Sorry, bad night last night."

"Not out boxing again are you? I didn't think I had heard you leave or come back."

"No, um bad dream," I yawned as I scratched the back of my neck.

"The great Sherlock Holmes frightened by a dream? That's the last thing I would have guessed!" I stared coldly at her. "Right, well I will be leaving today around nine to visit an old friend of mine, is there anything you need?"

"No. I might not be back until late tonight, just thought I would let you know."

"You know Mr. Holmes; ever since the doctor left you've become a better tenant than before."

"Yes, of course… nanny." I went back up to my room to make myself presentable when I couldn't find an already worn shirt. "I'll just go grab one of Watson's—" However my Boswell's closet had been empty for months now. I picked up the cleanliest one I could find and pulled it on. I combed my hair out of face and rubbed my cheek, debating whether or not I needed a shave.

"To hell with it, this is important!" I rushed down the stairs hoping that since it was Sunday that Watson would be home and not at his practice. The streets of London weren't too busy at this hour of the morning since most people were at church. I called a cab and sped off towards Cavendish Place.

"Thank you sir," I said as I paid my debt. I ran to the door, my hand raised, just about to knock, when I held myself back with a sigh. "No," I said aloud, "I can't do this. He'll tell me to leave and that he never wants to see my face again, just like last time." I stood there for a minute or two, contemplating the situation when with a reluctant sigh I knocked on the door.

I heard footsteps coming to greet the door, Watson's obviously, I could hear the limp, and as the door handle twisted I bared myself to face the worst. "Holmes!" he yelled in shock. "What are you doing here?" Oh how I missed my Boswell! Even seeing his face made mine light up in joy.

"I was just in the neighborhood and decided to drop by," I said nervously. He shook the shocked look from his face.

"Well I would invite you in but Mary has company. How about a walk?"

"Perfect." He walked back into the house to pull on some shoes, a coat, a hat, his walking stick, and alert his wife of his departure. "You will have to guide me Watson, as I do not visit this part of town often."

"Certainly," he said. We walked around a corner or two, and soon enough ended up at a local park. "I know you better than this, why are you here?"

"Do you really want to know?" I asked looking deep into his blue eyes. "Are you absolutely positive?"

"Yes Holmes."

"You're not going to like it," I teased just like we used to.

"I may not like it but I still want to know."

"All right but I warned you—"

"Get on with it!" he cut me off.

"Dr. John H. Watson the reason I came to visit you on the morning of March 12, 1889 was to tell you that I miss you." It felt as if a huge weight had been lifted off of my chest.

"Well I—"

"No, Watson, you really don't know just how much I've missed you! I've been lost without my Boswell. Would you like to know how bad it's gotten? I was talking to your dog for over an hour last night! Asking him for advice on what I should do!"

"Holmes I—"

"And Mrs. Hudson has even said that I'm a better tenant now that you've left!"

"Really Holmes I—"

"Just this morning I caught myself trying to steal a shirt from your old closet that was empty!

"That explains the stain. But Holmes I don't think you get it I—"

"My work on cases lately has been worthless since I have nobody to record the details!"

"You were fine before me Holmes, but seriously I—"

"I was talking to an empty chair last night thinking you were there!"

"HOLMES I MISSED YOU TOO!" That caught me off guard.

"You missed me? I thought you hated my guts and never wanted to see my face again."

"How could I say that Holmes? Do you know how dull and dreary my life has been since I left? All I do every single day is get up in the morning, go to work, come home, go to bed, and repeat it all again the next day. It's a never ending cycle! Only a week after my departure I knew something was missing! It was like there was a huge hole in my chest that just wouldn't heal over, even after this long! I knew what it was too, but not until now will I admit it. I left part of myself at Baker Street Holmes, and I don't think I'll ever get it back."

"You could always come and retrieve it if you'd like." The thought of Watson coming back was too much to handle, but I knew it would never happen.

"Holmes you know I can't do that." He gave me a stern look, almost like a parent scolding their child.

"You could always just come for a visit. Gladston misses you."

"I think a certain private consulting detective misses me more than Gladston does," he chuckled. My chocolate hues met his blue ones.

"Please?" I said softly. I could tell that he knew I meant it.

"I'm sure I could stop by for a short visit," he said as he rolled his eyes.

"Perfect! I'll get us a cab!" Soon enough we were headed across the streets of London back towards home sweet home, 221B Baker Street. We sat in silence the majority of the ride, but I was too excited to talk, and I think Watson knew.

"Ah I haven't been to this part of the city in a long time," he remarked as we alighted from the cab. We walked up the stairs to the sitting room and sat down in our armchairs. "Just the same as the old days."

"Yes," I said, "just the same."

"So how are you holding up old chap?"

"I think I'll be alright. Once again I think I've crossed over to the mad side a bit but I'll be okay. How about you?"

"The practice is definitely tiring. Things are going all right though." He lit a cigar as I stared at him, though he didn't notice it. He didn't seem the same as before. There were newly acquired wrinkles on his face, dark circles underneath his eyes, and a general sense of exasperation.

"Are you sure? You look awfully worn down."

"As I said, the practice is very tiring." We sat there for a few more minutes, staring at the fire. "Any interesting cases lately? I haven't seen your name in any of the newspapers lately."

"Not really. All petty work that even Lestrade doesn't have too hard of a time solving."

"How is old Lestrade?" he chuckled.

"I wouldn't know, I don't get out much anymore," I said as I slunk further into the chair.

"Except for boxing I see?"

"What?" I asked quickly.

"The way you're sitting shows there's something wrong with your chest. A bruised rib is my best guess. You just told me you haven't been getting out much, so boxing seemed like a logical answer."

"My dear Watson years of deduction lectures haven't been wasted on you after all!"

"No," he said humbly. "You are off your game. There's something bothering you Holmes, I know it."

"There's nothing wrong—"

"Tell me the truth!" he exclaimed.

"I had a dream last night."

"We all have dreams when we sleep Holmes," he said matter-of-factly. "What was wrong with your dream that's bothering you?"

"Well you were in it."

"Yes Holmes because I couldn't have deduced that already."

"Why didn't you display such talents before Watson? I'm sure Scotland Yard could really use your help on some of there cases."

"Holmes!"

"Right, right. Well you had been shot, and were bleeding heavily. I was trying to help you but you kept telling me that it was just a scratch and that you were going to be better in no time. And then I—I held you for what seemed like ages, trying to comfort you. Then at the end you told me that you loved me and I—I said that I did too, but just after, you died in my arms. It was the worst dream I ever had." I could see a few tears starting to form in his eyes but he quickly wiped them away.

"And that's why you felt the need to come and visit me this morning?"

"I needed somebody to talk to Watson, and I missed you. Besides, Gladston was a good listener, but he didn't give me very much feedback."

He chuckled. "I'll always be here for you Holmes, and don't feel bad, I missed you too. I'm glad that you begged me to come back here today. I don't think I've felt this happy and relieved in a long time."

"Me too Watson, me too." He checked his pocket watch and realized he was late for something.

"I'm sorry Holmes, but I'm going to be late for dinner if I don't leave soon." I glanced up at the clock and it suddenly dawned on me how long we'd been here.

"Go and enjoy you're dinner, you don't want to keep Mary waiting."

"You're welcome to come and visit me anytime Holmes."

"Touché."

"Well goodbye Sherlock, I missed you." For one more time our eyes met.

"I missed you too John. Goodbye." As my friend left Baker Street I watched until he was out of sight. I plopped back down into my chair and lit my pipe.

"Gladston, thanks for listening."


End file.
